


All's Fair in Love and War

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [25]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Other, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Rita Appreciation (Penumbra Podcast), flour in the hairdryer, juno is bad with technology, lock hack shenanigans, this one's a fun time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Peter Nureyev had made a career out of knowing exactly when to stay out of things. If any particular mess were left behind after his crimes, it was never his problem to deal with, so long as none of that mess carried a trace of anything more than an alias he would shed like a coat. If he had to simplify his line of work to three steps, he entered, he meddled, and then he disappeared.However, it didn’t take a private investigator to know that in certain matters he wanted to stay out of, he should not meddle at all. Such was the case of Rita and Juno’s prank war.(Free!) Commission for an anon on tumblr
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 30
Kudos: 103





	All's Fair in Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! this one's pretty light so hope you're in for a good time :D
> 
> Content warnings for food mention, drink mention

Peter Nureyev had made a career out of knowing exactly when to stay out of things. If any particular mess were left behind after his crimes, it was never his problem to deal with, so long as none of that mess carried a trace of anything more than an alias he would shed like a coat. If he had to simplify his line of work to three steps, he entered, he meddled, and then he disappeared.

However, it didn’t take a private investigator to know that in certain matters he wanted to stay out of, he should not meddle at all. Such was the case of Rita and Juno’s prank war.

If Nureyev had to guess, the war was likely half as old as he was. He knew little about the origins and had decided it best not to ask, for, if he had to guess, both sides would likely have their own thoroughly biased story about how such a matter began. The most he knew for certain was gleaned from snippets of Juno’s grumbling while he stayed awake to an unholy hour plotting a scheme to steal Rita’s keyboard and encase it in gelatin.

He didn’t know who started it, nor did he intend to take a side. As often as Juno entreated his pity when caught in Rita’s always impressive and always impossible webs, Nureyev was not too dishonest a man not to laugh at him.

A particular instance stuck out in his memory that, despite his best efforts, as well as a series of very pointed glares from his partner, Nureyev could not help but grin at the thought of.

The morning had not been abnormal in the least, save for Rita’s insistence that Juno down an extra cup of coffee after a stream night that ran a few streams too long. Breakfast was made, Nureyev was exiled from the kitchen after attempting to put sugar on toast, Nureyev was un-exiled from the kitchen after a half-asleep Juno’s insistence that they hadn’t seen each other in at least a couple hours, and the crew fought their way through yawns and conversations to all mutually put off doing the dishes for a few minutes longer.

Nureyev wasn’t exactly one to go about his days dreading every coming hour, though after a breakfast that almost felt like a family meal and Juno’s pre-coffee insistence on holding his hand beneath the table, he couldn’t shake the expectation that the day was going to be a good one. 

For someone who felt more often like Fate’s ashtray than a man, he couldn’t help but appreciate such days that felt as if they were going to go right. Even if life had not been kind so far as some of the broader strokes and plotlines, perhaps he might have a good day to hang on to in between.

Whatever pleasant philosophy was buzzing through his head at such an early hour was certainly not buzzing through Juno’s, however, for he had hardly left the kitchen when he heard a resounding and all too familiar expletive ring out from down the hall.

“Dear?” Nureyev called.

Juno merely groaned in return. Although it held more petulance than pain, Nureyev still found himself rushing down the hall when he received no more clarification. 

“Juno,” he breathed upon rounding a corner and catching sight of his partner’s coat. “Love, are you alright?”

“In one piece,” Juno grumbled from behind gritted teeth.

“Dear,” Nureyev started once more, eyebrows slowly knitting. “Why are you glaring at that door?”

Glaring was, perhaps, too kind a word. Juno’s gaze seared into the door as if he were mentally cataloguing and insulting every one of its ancestors in alphabetical order. If looks could kill, or if doors could die, Nureyev doubted the introduction of the new computerized lock in place of the last manual one would be doing much to bar Juno’s entry to the bathroom.

“See that lock?” Juno huffed.

“Yes,” Nureyev returned slowly. “Is there an issue with the programming?”

“Yep,” Juno continued. “Door won’t open.”

Nureyev sighed.

“Dear, did you knock?”

Juno sputtered out an indignant sound.

“Did I—well, excuse me—maybe a lady can have a grasp on where—” Juno broke himself off with a glare and let his knuckles collide with the door. He paused a moment, his other arm still tight across his chest, and when no response came, he turned to Nureyev with as victorious a look as could cut through his ire. “See? I think there’s something messed up with the lock.”

“Have you tried turning it on, perhaps?” Nureyev offered. “I could see if I might be able to work with the device.”

“That would be cheating,” Juno huffed. “I stuck Rita’s keyboard in jello the other day, so if I’m putting two and two together, she stuck this lock on the bathroom knowing I couldn’t get into it without her help.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow.

“And how can she be sure someone else won’t use it first?”

“Remember that extra coffee she offered me at breakfast?”

“Oh, dear God.”

“Yep.”

“Juno,” Nureyev began slowly. “We’ve discussed my policy on remaining neutral in this matter.”

“Honey,” Juno growled. “Love of my goddamn life, you’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll insist that I fell victim to the lock first,” Nureyev offered. “Perhaps she might unlock it for me, if not for you.”

“She’ll figure out a way to fix it again,” Juno returned with a shake of his head. 

“And you’re not going to walk to another bathroom, I assume,” Nureyev continued.

“Are you kidding me? This ship is huge,” Juno huffed. “She’s a genius, dammit. The only way I can get out of this is to stoop low enough to ask for help.”

“Well, are you going to?”

Juno glared.

“You’d think a guy would know a lady after dating him for a year.”

“You’d think,” Nureyev smiled. “Now, if you’d like me to be the courier for your surrender, I’ll do so gladly, but otherwise, I think I’m going to keep my hands thoroughly clean of this matter.”

Juno huffed and opened his mouth to speak, though after a moment, he merely shook his head and sighed.

“You don’t have to get dragged into this,” he conceded.

“And you don’t have to try to unhack a bathroom lock. Really, dear—”

“Rita,” Juno called through gritted teeth. His gaze sat upon the ceiling, preparing to make absolutely no eye contact if she were to come within visual distance.

“Yeah, Mistah Steel?” Rita returned from the next room over, clearly biting back smugness. “Is everything okay out there?”

“Yeah, just unlock the goddamn bathroom. You win. Whatever,” he huffed.

The lock clicked and fell away without another word from Rita, as if she hadn’t had a hand in the matter at all. Juno took a moment to brush his hands on the front of his sweater before even reaching for the door, as if in stooping low enough to admit defeat, he had dirtied himself in some irreversible way.

“What the hell is that look for?” Juno demanded, though the delivery was utterly shot by his accidental laugh, likely spurred on by the smile Nureyev hadn’t realized was blooming across his face until a chuckle, untidy and unexpected sputtered from his lips.

“Thinking about how much I love you, dear,” he evaded.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’ll be in storage if you want some help tending to your wounded ego,” Peter merely grinned, giving Juno’s hand a squeeze in farewell.

He supposed, to an extent, his words hadn’t been a lie. As much as he had fallen in love with Juno’s passion and quiet soft spot and the hardness of his jaw when something on a heist struck a moral chord, he couldn’t pretend that warmth didn’t bloom in his chest at the occasional petulant groan or jab of a comment. It was all distinctly Juno, and that in itself made it something to be cherished.

That strange, heady feeling that had occupied his morning made a return throughout the day, and though Nureyev could not quite place the feeling at the time, hindsight told him all too clearly that it was blissful ignorance. Peter could not possibly know that Juno’s retribution in this two-decade series of practical jokes would be swift, nor could he know that as such, it would be sloppy.

For as many hours as Juno had spent at the shooting range, his aim with a blaster was far better than his aim with flour.

Perhaps it had been unwise to borrow anything of Rita’s for the foreseeable future. Perhaps she had been far too willing to lend anything of hers out when it was fair game for a prank. Either way, Nureyev firmly decided those things were to be dealt with after he managed to get the hairdryer-born cloud of flour out of his hair and face.

“Love,” he tried to call as evenly as possible with both rage and heated flour drying on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Juno returned from the other room. “Something wrong?”

“Dear,” Nureyev repeated, frankly proud of himself for not coughing up a lung right then and there.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming, gimme a sec,” Juno huffed from the other room. Nureyev thought he might have heard him trip, but it was difficult to focus on much besides his fingers trying to guide the flour away from his eyes.

“Love of my life,” Nureyev continued, the easiness in his voice beginning to slide away when he needed to pause to spit flour into the sink. “My dear detective, for your own sake, I would suggest you get in here as soon as possible.”

Nureyev was still trying to lessen his countenance as one of a ghost in a bad middle school play when he heard the door open. He shot a glare at the direction of the doorway without truly being able to register what was happening there, for flour still hung in the air like the remnants of a broken fog machine spitting into the eyes of the audience while Juno, somewhere behind the cloud and the blur and the one eye that Nureyev knew he had to squeeze shut to prevent his tear ducts from running, took in a deep breath.

“Did you—”

“Borrow it from Rita?” Nureyev finished flatly.

Nureyev hadn’t ever been one to spare Juno his laughter when a prank found him in a particularly funny situation. He had, of course, interpreted such a thing as honesty and good humor. However, with semi-wet flour clinging to his hair and his eyes still blinking away the aftereffects of the worst nose powdering of his entire life, he was beginning to see exactly why Juno often took those moments to shine his signature glare upon the world.

Juno wheezed in the doorway and clutched his chest, though from the low hanging culinary mist or laughter, Nureyev could not entirely tell. Either way, he felt a chalky glare knit across his brow.

A noble man would be forgiving, or perhaps, understanding of the matter. A noble man would understand the accident or try once again to remove himself from a conflict in which he had no stake. However, Nureyev had never considered himself particularly noble, and he had far too much pride to start acting that way now.

Peter Nureyev was seldom the kind of man to declare war, though he supposed, there was a first time for everything.

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaww!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill put your stapler in jello or something idk
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric where my commissions are reopening!! or on twitter @withane22 !!


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